


Hiraeth

by ThatBishLizzie



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A little anti-North, BAMF Arya Stark, BAMF Daenerys Targaryen, BAMF Jon Snow, Dany’s a little dark too, Dark Jon Snow, Earn Your Happy Ending, Jon-centric, More Tags to be added as I go, Multi, North wants independence, Pro-Dany, Pro-Jon, Sansa is political and cares a lot about the North but is not a horrible person, Tyrion is intelligent, because of death and resurrection, dany-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:27:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22270270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatBishLizzie/pseuds/ThatBishLizzie
Summary: So I’m starting yet another fic! Unlike my other two, this one is really not salty, lol. I want to try (TRY) to write these characters in a way to love them again.What bothered me most about S7 and 8 was that I felt many characters were badly OOC imo. I want to try to write them as I saw them.There were a few OOC moments in past seasons but I lack the talent and ambition to go further back than S7, except for one thing that my girlfriend insisted was SO OOC that it must be addressed.  And I must admit I found the ramifications fascinating.This change involves Osha and Rickon.As my gf pointed out, Osha was Free Folk. She managed to get south of the wall on a ship, and left because of the army of the dead.She planned to go ‘as far south as south goes.’Seems odd she would trust the Umbers. And they’re not ‘as far south as south goes’ by a long shot. Last Hearth is North even of Winterfell.As with my other fics, I must make the disclaimer I AM NOT A WRITER!Criticism and suggestions are welcome, even appreciated, but please be respectful.As you all know, the basis for this fic and all the characters, places, etc, are the property of George RR Martin and D&D.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Daenerys Targaryen, Arya Stark & Jon Snow, Jaime Lannister & Daenerys Targaryen, Jaime Lannister & Jon Snow, Jaime Lannister & Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Cersei Lannister, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Sansa Stark & Daenerys Targaryen, Sansa Stark & Jon Snow, Sansa Stark/Tyrion Lannister, Theon Greyjoy & Starks, Yara Greyjoy & Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 209
Kudos: 134





	1. Prologue: The Lost Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> This prologue takes place around the time that Osha and Rickon originally went to the Umbers

Prologue: The Lost Wolf

Rickon could not remember his father’s face. He could barely remember any of his family really, only Bran. And now Bran was gone, too, and Osha feared he would die like his other brothers. But Osha was not going North of the Wall. She would never go North again, until the dead things rising were defeated. 

Osha said all the other wars were meaningless. That all the armies were marching in the wrong way. 

“We’re not going to do that, little lord,” she told him. 

Bran had told them to go to Last Hearth, and they had started that way; but then Osha said it was too close, too near to where the dead were.

“When the dead pass the Wall, they’ll go there first,” she told Rickon. “We’re going as far south as south goes.”

And so they’d gone, but had to hide and hide, and Rickon was angry and sad. He’d had a family once, even if they were only half remembered ghosts now. But they’d died and now maybe he would die, too, over a war he knew little about. 

Rickon thought maybe he was dead already. That he’d died with Shaggydog and now he was a dead thing like the wights that terrified even brave Osha. 

He hadn’t seen Shaggydog die, but as they’d rushed through the icy trees, a group of men had come, tried to capture them. Osha had killed a few, then grabbed Rickon and ran. Shaggy had stayed behind to fight the soldiers with the flayed men on their shields, and their dogs. And Rickon felt it. He had felt when Shaggy had died.

And now they were going onto a ship to go south and south and south. 

Osha had sat on a man’s lap at an inn; she did that sometimes. Cuddle close to a man, then strike suddenly. 

And then after that, she had some coins that she used to buy passage into the great ship. Osha told the other people on the ship that Rickon was her son. That his name was Bruni. The name of her husband who had died but tried to kill her anyway, returning to her with blue eyes, unfazed by her stabbing him. She’d had to burn him. 

Rickon stayed in their cabin. He was angry, he was sad, and there was nothing else.

But Osha had a plan. She’d told him that the red streak in the sky years ago meant dragons. That if there were dragons, there may be dragon riders. And if there were dragon riders, there was hope. Because those dead things could be killed by fire. 

If everyone in the Seven Kingdoms wanted to throw away their chances of survival, by fighting each other instead of the real enemy, she could not stop them. But Osha would not find herself at the mercy of dead men. 

“And nor will you, little lord,” she told Rickon. 

And so they sailed. It wasn’t South they were going now, but East. Across a sea where they might escape the dead and their rotting murderous rampage. A place of sun and heat and maybe dragons. Maybe hope.


	2. Out of the Hearth and Into the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now I’m jumping ahead to early S7. Jon has the conversation with Sansa first, before announcing it in the Great Hall.
> 
> Because I’m imagining that Tyrion is smart, like in prior seasons, Dany basically lands on Dragonstone and takes Kings Landing immediately.
> 
> It was weird she sat there listening to Tyrion claim that ‘thousands will be killed in the firestorm’ all through S7 yet took the city in like 9 minutes with no civilian casualties.
> 
> So yeah, she basically did what she did in S8E5 minus the massacring of innocents. She took Qyburn, Cersei and Jaime as prisoners. 
> 
> More on that in future chapters!

Jon studied the scroll he’d received, then handed it to Sansa, who frowned when she read it.

“Daenerys Targaryen has taken the capitol and wants you to appear before her to bend the knee...” she read, then she looked at him. “You aren’t going to go, are you?”

“I have to.” He reached into his pocket and produced the letter Sam had sent him., handing it to her. “Dragonstone sits on a mountain of dragon glass. We need that glass, Sansa. I have to go and ask her permission to mine it. To make weapons from it. I have to try to persuade her to fight beside us.”

“Jon, this is a trap. She wants the Seven Kingdoms. All Seven Kingdoms.” 

“Maybe. But this was written by Tyrion Lannister. I don’t think he would do that. You know him. He’s a good man. It’s a risk, but if I don’t take that risk, every one of us will die. We can’t hope to defeat the Night King without allies.”

Sansa sighed, handing Jon both letters. “At least take men with you,” she said, resigned. “You’re abandoning the North. You know that, don’t you? Abandoning your people.”

“I’m leaving them both in good hands.”

“Whose?”

“Yours. Until I return, the North is yours.”

He saw the change in her face as she nodded assent, and almost gave a bitter laugh. 

Happy now, are you? He thought.

Jon knew there would be objections from the Northern lords as well, and he had neither time nor the patience to deal with it. 

They were all so mired in their stupid games. Sansa was so concerned over who had which title, who wore a crown.

It means nothing, any of it, he thought. 

He felt cold. He always felt cold, ever since he had died. Even now, at Winterfell, where the hot springs kept it as warm inside as summer, he was cold. 

He was angry all the time, and he wondered if that would ever fade. He would likely die fighting the dead. 

I should have been left dead, he thought. But of course that too was petty. He needed to help them prepare. If everyone insisted on being fucking stupid instead of banding together to fight the dead, the entire North and everybody else would be moving walking corpses. 

In the Great Hall, everyone was talking at once in response to Jon’s announcement. 

“Your brother Robb marched South, and lost his kingdom and his life.”

“The King in the North needs to be in the North.”

Their voices blended together in a cacophony of protest and Jon’s head hurt.

“Enough,” Jon roared. The Hall fell silent. “Do you not understand what’s going to happen? The dead are coming. They’re coming whether we band together or not. They’re coming whether we prepare or not. We can sit here whinging like children, and die, or we can gather allies and give the fuckers a fight. I intend to fight.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Lord Manderly said. “We are concerned, because we have no reason to trust any of the Southern rulers. You are our King. We don’t want to lose another king to those Southern vipers.”

“I appreciate your concern. But if we don’t secure allies - powerful allies - we will die. All of us. This is not a fucking game. 

“Daenerys Targaryen has taken Kings Landing. She had two large armies of her own, she has Dorne, the Iron Islands, and the Reach, and if the stories are to be believed, she has three dragons. She has men on Dragonstone, it’s not as if I can start mining there without her knowing. 

“I have to do this, and I don’t have time to waste arguing about it.”

He nodded at them and left the Hall to begin readying for the journey south.


	3. Grumkins and Snarks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon meets Daenerys at the Red Keep.

Kings Landing was crowded and smelly.

At the Red Keep, Jon was frustrated by the sheer number of petitioners ahead of him, the other lords who had come to swear fealty to the new queen, or ask for assistance, the smallfolk presenting their issues. 

None of this matters, he thought. It all seemed so small, so stupid.

He and Ser Davos were finally escorted into the throne room, and there, the Iron Throne and its new queen were before him.

She was smaller than he’d expected, and for all the tales of her beauty, he had not expected her to be quite so breathtaking. She had an exquisite face, and long hair that was braided at the top, falling around her shoulders in waves the color of moonlight. She was also much younger than he’d thought, and she looked almost delicate against the backdrop of swords from which the throne was forged. He couldn’t tell if she had the famous Targaryen purple eyes from where he stood. She wore no crown, but her posture and bearing left no doubt that she was a queen; THE Queen.

At her left stood a beautiful, slender woman with golden skin and eyes, and at her right, stood Tyrion Lannister.

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen,” the woman at her left announced. “First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Lady Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons”.

Jon glanced at Ser Davos. 

“This is Jon Snow,” he introduced, “he’s King in the North.”

“I thank you for traveling so far, my lord. I hope the seas weren’t too rough,” the queen said.

“The winds were kind, Your Grace”.

“Apologies, Your Grace,” Ser Davos cut in. “I have a Flea Bottom accent, I know. But Jon Snow is King in the North. He’s not a Lord.”

“Forgive me...” Daenerys broke off.

“This is Ser Davos Seaworth,” Tyrion supplied.

“Forgive me, Ser Davos. You did say King, didn’t you?” She turned her attention back to Jon. “You’ve come all this way to break faith with House Targaryen?”

Jon gave a short, bitter laugh. “Break faith? Your father burned my grandfather alive. He burned my uncle alive.”

There were murmurs, and Jon realized that there were others in the throne room, lining the walls and on the mezzanine above.

“My father,” Daenerys said heavily, “was an evil man.” The room grew silent. “On behalf of House Targaryen, I apologize, and ask forgiveness for the crimes he committed against your family.

“I suppose it was my father who broke faith with House Stark. And so you’ve come to declare your kingdom’s independence.

“I appreciate your coming here to tell me this, rather than sending a raven. I have always held to the idea that a ruler serves her people - or his people - as much as rules them. And I’ve only ever had people follow me by their own choice. 

“So long as you serve your people well, and do not harm them, and of course do not infringe upon the other kingdoms, I will respect your independence.”

“I appreciate that, Your Grace,” Jon began.

“You realize what independence means, I’m assuming,” she added.

Jon’s gaze turned cold. “I’ve been educated despite being a bastard,” he told her. “I know what independence means.”

“Of course. I meant no offense. Only to clarify that being independent means that I will expect no taxes from your kingdom, nor military aid in wartime. And it means that your kingdom will expect no aid from my kingdoms, military or otherwise.”

Jon frowned. “I have an urgent matter to discuss with you, Your Grace.”

“We can discuss any further matters at another time, Your Grace,” the little queen told him firmly. “However, I must first attend to the needs of my own people. You must be tired from your journey. Please stay as my honored guests. Food will be brought to your chambers.”

“This is urgent.”

“I’m quite certain that everyone here believes their query is urgent.”

“Your Grace, everyone you know will die before winter is over,” he said harshly, “if we don’t defeat the enemy to the North.”

Something seemed to flicker in her eyes; she was too far away for him to say for certain. 

Again, the hum of the others in the room whispering. 

“The enemy to the North,” Daenerys repeated, and her face had gone still. “Are you declaring your kingdom my enemy?”

“I am not your enemy. The dead are the enemy.”

The voices in the room grew quiet. Then there were a few giggles, some mocking, some nervous.

The queen’s face was like stone, her eyes boring into him. 

“The army of the dead is on the march,” Jon told her.

“The army of the dead,” Tyrion repeated thoughtfully.

“You don’t know me well, my lord. But do you think I am a liar? Or a madman?”

“No,” Tyrion said placatingly. “I don’t think you’re either of those things.”

“The army of the dead is real. The White Walkers are real. The Night King is real. If they get past the Wall, and we’re squabbling amongst ourselves,” Jon had raised his voice, stepping closer to the throne, only stopping when the guards moved toward him, protective of their queen. “We’re finished,” he said, forcing his voice to be calm.

The queen was quiet in the midst of the storm of voices that suddenly broke around them. 

Jon really didn’t give a fuck of the people here thought he was lying or mad. He cared only if she did, this diminutive woman with the power to command armies and dragons to help him stop the annihilation of the living. 

She was looking at him, assessing.

“We can speak of this at a later time,” she told him again. “But as I said, I have petitioners here from my own kingdoms, and I must address their concerns.” She spoke some words, softly, to two of her guards. 

Jon was angry now, and was about to argue, but Davos rested his hand lightly on Jon’s shoulder.

“You can speak with her later, Your Grace.”

The queen’s guards approached them, to bring them to rooms and have food sent to them. 

“This is a waste of fucking time,” he told Davos as they entered the chambers. “Every minute she’s listening to people complaining, is a minute closer the Night King gets to the Wall.”

“She said she’d meet with you,” Davos said. “And I might be wrong here, but she did not seem to think you sounded mad.”

Jon frowned. It was true, she hadn’t. While the others in the throne room had laughed or whispered, she had looked at him, her expression deadly serious.

“She said if the North is independent, she won’t provide military aid,” Jon said, remembering. “This is all just foolery.”

“Well, she has a fair point there. Independence means just that.”

“If she doesn’t help us fight, the Night King will storm all of Westeros. Everyone will die, and she’s going to let it happen.”

“Perhaps not, Your Grace. Explain it to her. She certainly looked like she’ll listen. And once she knows the full danger, she’d be a fool not to join the fight.”

When the food was brought up, Jon was still too angry to eat, but Davos pointed out that he should be in best form to meet with the queen and tell her his information.

So he ate the meal in silence and waited. 

The next morning, Tyrion came to his chambers.

“The queen would like to meet with you,” he said, sitting down. “To discuss this army of the dead, and the terms of independence.”

“I need to get back North as soon as possible. When can she meet?”

“Today. She has set aside time to do so.”

“She didn’t seem to think I was mad. So that’s encouraging.”

Tyrion studied him for a moment. “No. She doesn’t think you’re mad. I can’t say she’s ecstatic about Northern independence, but she’s firmly committed to having the consent of those she rules.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“You realize it’s a factor. You’re telling her the North is independent, then appeared to be telling her she must provide military aid to assist you and the North.”

“It’s not just to assist me, or the North. If we don’t defeat the Night King, everyone will die, including her.” 

Tyrion nodded grimly. “I understand that.”

“Do you? You believe me.”

“I do.”

“You didn’t before. Grumpkins and snarks, you called them.”

“I did,” Tyrion said with a sigh. “I thought it was nonsense. But...you said you’ve seen them, and...you’re not the first to say so. Mormont saw them. A few years ago, when I served as Hand to my nephew, one of the Nights Watch brothers came to tell me about them. And then...well, I’ll let the queen tell you.”

“The queen? Has someone already told her?”

“She’ll tell you all about it, I’m sure. She’s invited you to dine with her for your afternoon meal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing I wanted to clarify; Jon and Sansa et al believe Rickon is dead. When Smalljon Umber brought Rickon to the Boltons, and in turn when Ramsay wanted to prove he had Rickon, all they presented was Shaggydog.
> 
> So everything happened in the North the same way, except the boy Ramsay killed wasn’t Rickon. 
> 
> Daenerys doesn’t know either, because she thinks Rickon is Osha’s son. 
> 
> It will come out once Bran arrives at Winterfell.


	4. A Stalemate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany meet privately, exchange information, and have an argument.

When the time came to meet with the queen, Jon entered the rooms with Tyrion and Davos. The queen was not there, but bread, cheese, fruit and wine had been laid out in expectation of their arrival. 

The woman who had stood beside the queen was there, with one of the guards. 

“This is Missandei,” Tyrion introduced her to Jon and Davos. “She’s the queen’s most trusted advisor. And this,” he added, indicating the guard who stood with her, “is Grey Worm. He is the queen’s Master of War.”

“Where is the queen?” Jon asked, swallowing his impatience. 

“She will be here soon,” Missandei assured him with a smile.

And true to her word, Daenerys entered a few minutes later. 

Standing, she was even smaller than Jon had surmised, but she had an energy about her that altered that of the room as soon as she walked in. 

She nodded at them, and they stood to greet her, then she sat down across from Jon. 

“I hope you found your rooms to your liking,” she said to Jon and Davos.

“The rooms are fine,” Jon said brusquely. “And even if they weren’t, it would be irrelevant.”

She smiled, to his surprise, and he noticed that yes, she did indeed have the fabled violet eyes, and they seemed to dance in amusement. 

“All business, I see,” she said. “I trust you understand the terms of independence as I’ve outlined them?”

“I do. But that’s not why I came here.”

“I see. And so if this army of the dead was not marching toward the Wall, you’d have sent a raven informing me of your kingdom’s independence.”

“Northerners don’t fare well in the South,” he said.

“I understand. And you have the resources to feed and support your people through winter without Southern aid?”

“We won’t survive the winter at all if we don’t defeat the Night King. That’s what I came to discuss with you. The rest doesn’t matter.”

“Well, it may be fine to say it doesn’t matter, but clearly it does. Your knight corrected me when I called you Lord. Why declare independence if it doesn’t matter?”

“I don’t give a fuck about the politics, Your Grace. My people chose me to lead them, and that’s what I will do, as well and as long as I’m able. But there will be no people to lead - not for me or you - if we don’t band together to fight the dead.”

“So you’re requesting an alliance between our kingdoms to fight the dead,” the queen said. “Is that right?”

“I am. They can be killed with dragonglass - “

“Dragonglass?”

“Obsidian. And Dragonstone sits on a mountain of it.”

“This is very useful information, if true,” Daenerys said. “And you’re certain dragonglass will kill them?”

“Aye. I would like permission to mine it, to forge weapons from it.”

“In exchange for the information you’ve provided, and any further information, I will allow you to mine the dragonglass. I was told only fire kills them.”

“Fire, dragonglass and Valyrian steel kills them,” Jon responded. Then he frowned. “You were told?”

“Yes. Some time ago. One of your Free Folk women came to me in Meereen with her son, seeking refuge from this dead army. Of course, I was suspicious, but I’ve certainly seen some things in my life that would seem impossible to others. It seemed worth it to hear her out and prepare if possible.”

“And how have you prepared?” Jon demanded.

“I sent ravens to the Citadel as soon as I took the capitol, asking them for as much information as they have on the subject. I’ve also asked them to send a Maester, as apparently Cersei kept none save for a man who was expelled from the Citadel all together. 

“I had Lord Tyrion find the men he’d had make wildfire for him, and explain how he’d moved it safely, for the Battle of the Blackwater. His brother was less than cooperative, but I’m hoping he will tell us where my father hid his caches.”

“Wildfire,” Jon repeated in horror.

“Understand, I thought it was only fire that could kill them. I have no idea as to the size of this army - “

“A hundred thousand at least,” Jon said.

She shuddered. “That’s far worse than I thought. Is there a way to evacuate everyone North of the Wall?”

“We did, but we were too late. We lost too many.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and she seemed genuine.

“If you believe me, then you understand how crucial it is to band together.”

“I do. I will provide resources so you can evacuate your people - “

“Evacuate?” Jon repeated.

“Move them South,” Daenerys clarified.

“We were going to fight them at Winterfell.”

“Winterfell? Why?”

“Because the dead will attack Winterfell.”

“They’ll attack Last Hearth too, would you move your men North to defend it?” She demanded.

“Last Hearth is not as defensible as Winterfell.”

“And Winterfell is not as defensible as Storm’s End,” she shot back. 

“If we fight them at Storm’s End - “

“I’m not suggesting fighting them at Storms End. I’m saying that the further south we are, the more time we have to prepare. And what’s defensible against a living army may not be particularly defensible against the dead. 

“Look at the Eyrie. It’s virtually impenetrable, for a living army. And it has natural barriers that could force the dead into approaching in smaller numbers. Unlike Winterfell. 

“But that would also make attack against them difficult for the living. And a dead army won’t tire. They don’t hunger. They could starve the living out quite easily. The Eyrie can only hold a garrison of five hundred men, which would be easily wiped out.” She hesitated, frowning. “Unless we line the road with wildfire. Then my dragons could rain down - “

“So that’s true. You have dragons.”

She smiled. “Yes. Three. You didn’t see them?”

“No.”

“They must have been fishing when you arrived.”

“You’re thinking of the Eyrie now,” he said, steering the conversation back to strategy. 

“Not particularly. Just trying to go over ideas. You said you’ve seen them. You’ve known about them for some time, I imagine, being at the Wall. You would know better than me, how to best fight them. 

“But unless my maps are wrong, Winterfell has no natural barriers that would cordon the dead into storming in smaller lines. It’s just a wide open space. They can’t be effectively flanked. And once they breach your walls, it’s over.”

Jon sighed. “Not everyone will abandon the North. They’d rather make a stand there.”

“How many fighting men do you have?”

“About ten thousand.”

“And how many people are in the North all together?”

“About a hundred thousand,” Jon told her.

“Doesn’t it make more sense for a hundred thousand to move South, then the combined forces of all Westeros to move North? And you would want to move your most vulnerable people, like women and children, anyway - “

“They are not going to want to separate from their women and children, leaving them in the hands of Southerners,” Jon said, remembering what had happened to Sansa, to Arya. 

Daenerys glared at him now, her eyes snapping lilac fire. “They would choose to have them die,” she said. 

“They would prefer to fight on land they know.”

“So would everyone, Your Grace. But it’s as you said, we have to band together,” she said.

“And that means you get to choose where we fight,” he snapped.

“It means I get to choose where my armies fight. You can choose to join us, or make a stand at Winterfell. But I don’t think Winterfell is the wisest battleground for the living to make a stand.”

Jon took a deep breath, trying to calm the rage pumping through him. The Northerners would never agree to go South. 

“The North is our home,” Jon said, forcing himself not to shout at her. 

“I understand that. And for the Free Folk, North of the Wall was their home. But they knew that to save their people, they must move South, and so they did.”

“If you don’t send your armies North, everyone there will die, and you’ll have a much larger enemy to fight.”

“If you don’t move your people South, they’ll die, and you lessen the chances of victory for the living.”

They stood facing each other, and Jon could see his own anger reflected in her face.

“If you both don’t arrive at a solution, you’re putting the entire continent at risk,” Tyrion said. 

“I’ve gone over the terrain and defenses of various castles here in Westeros with Grey Worm,” Daenerys said. “He’s my Master of War. Winterfell may be quite defensible against a living army. Or at least it was, before Ramsay Bolton destroyed your glass gardens, making a siege much more dangerous. But I don’t believe it will be nearly as defensible against the dead.”

Jon glared at her. “So what were you thinking?”

“We’ve been going over different options. If you wish to have your own strategists meet with mine, we could go over solutions.”

“No Northerner will come South. My people have suffered too much at the hands of Southerners to ever come again.”

Daenerys shrugged. “That’s their choice. As I’ve said, in exchange for the information you’ve provided, I will allow you to mine the dragonglass, and provide any men or resources you might need. 

“If your people decide they don’t want to join the dead army, I will provide resources to evacuate them. If you are willing to meet with my strategists, we can go over ways to ensure victory against the Night King.”

She stood. “As far as I can see, we have nothing further to say.”

“You’re doing this to punish us for declaring independence,” Jon accused, his rage bubbling over. “If you know what we’re facing, you know the worst thing to do is let the Night King keep moving south.”

Daenerys sighed in annoyance, and her eyes flashed in anger. “It’s not a punishment, but a consequence. The North wishes to maintain independence, they don’t trust Southerners. So why should I trust them? As Queen, it’s my duty to protect my people. But your Northerners are not my people.”

“There is no ‘my people’ and ‘your people’, there’s only the living and the dead,” he told her.

“Bold words from a man who is declaring independence for his kingdom, and separating them from the other kingdoms. 

“If it didn’t matter, we would not be having this conversation. You would have come here with your best strategists, to meet with the best from all the kingdoms, to figure out how to beat the Night King. 

“If what you truly wanted was unity, we would be unifying. You would be willing to entertain the idea of fighting in the most effective location.

“Instead, you want to separate yourself, choose the location of the battle, not because it’s the place that gives the living the best chance of victory, but because it’s your home, and your people would prefer their children die than put aside their fears and suspicions to fight the real enemy.”

She nodded at Jon and Ser Davos. “Please let me know if there is anything I can do to assist your mining endeavors, and of course if you wish to meet to discuss battle plans.”

She left the room, followed by her advisors.

“She is infuriating. We don’t have time for any of this,” Jon stormed. 

“She’s willing to fight beside us,” Davos noted. “The issue seems to me that you have to decide where to fight.”

Jon was pacing, running his hands through his hair. They’d barely touched the food that had been laid out, and he imagined she was angry too. 

“She’s angry that the North won’t bend the knee to her,” Jon said.

“That she may be,” Davos said. “But does that matter? As long as she’s willing to help us?”

Jon sighed. “I’m going to have to send a raven to Winterfell. See if any of my officers are willing to come and help plan.”

They walked back to their chambers, and Davos offered to send for someone to start a fire in the fireplace.

“Not now,” Jon said. “Thank you.”

He felt a little warm still from the searing rage the little queen had ignited. He frowned thoughtfully. He hadn’t even noticed it at the time. Maybe because the Red Keep was so far South, he mused. 

And he had no time at all to be dwelling on thoughts of glittering violet eyes, an exquisitely beautiful face, a full, flushed pink mouth and glorious curves. All that silver hair. 

No time to wonder what that hair looked like freed from its braids and flowing down her back. What that body looked like naked. Did she ever laugh, truly laugh? 

Jon shook his head, annoyed. The end of the world was upon them. The last thing he should be thinking about was an imperious queen and her stubbornness, how it would be to have her pliant in his arms, in his bed.

He had to think about the North. It was all he’d thought about for years now. The North. The Dead.

And since he’d died, that had intensified. He’d had to force himself to think of anything else except the impending doom of humanity. 

Odd to force his mind back to it now, when it suddenly wanted to fix on a stubborn queen and her scent of oranges.


	5. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany meets with Jon and others to start making plans

Daenerys was unsettled. 

She was irritated more than she should be about the North demanding independence. She’d agreed to the request of the Iron Islands, hadn’t she? 

But then, Lady Greyjoy - or Queen Yara, really - had supported her claim, and offered ships. The Iron Islands were very small.

The North was enormous, almost the size of the other kingdoms combined, and they had offered her nothing. Instead, their King was demanding she and her armies come to them.

She found him to be demanding and sullen and entitled...but something about his certainty, wielded almost like a weapon, not to harm but to conquer, a conquest of conviction, drew her to him inexplicably.

It should have annoyed her - and in truth, it did. It annoyed her and unnerved her. 

She paced as her advisors entered the council chamber, and with them, Osha and her son Bruni. 

Osha had not wanted to return to Westeros. She was fearful of the dead men, and Daenerys had grown to know the woman well enough to realize she did not scare easily.

Her son was another matter. He woke in the night screaming, sometimes howling. Osha had explained back in Meereen that he’d had a wolf once; a dire wolf, in fact, to whom he’d bonded.

“It may sound strange, but - “

“It doesn’t sound strange,” Daenerys had told her. She had a bond with her children, didn’t she? And especially Drogon. 

She ached for the boy, as Osha had told her how the wolf had died defending them. 

He sat now, rocking lightly, with Osha’s comforting hand on his back.

“The King in the North insists we should have this battle at Winterfell,” Daenerys said. “I want to go over the blueprints of the castle, and compare it to others, to see if it’s truly - “

“Winterfell,” Bruni repeated, staring at her.

She smiled at him. “It’s a castle in the North,” she explained.

“I know Winterfell,” he said, and Osha squeezed his hand, giving him a look of warning.

“It’s all right,” Daenerys assured her. 

“I lived at Winterfell,” he told her, and Osha was looking at him fiercely. 

“We should go,” Osha said. “Bruni needs to rest.”

“I’m not tired,” Bruni insisted. “The North has a warden, not a king,” he told Daenerys.

“They’ve declared independence,” Daenerys said. “They’ve named Jon Snow their king.”

“Jon Snow is alive?” The boy demanded, to Osha’s increasing discomfort. 

“He certainly is,” Daenerys said.

“What about Bran?”

“Who’s Bran?”

“Bran Stark. Jon Snow’s brother.”

“Oh. I don’t know. Is he a friend of yours?”

“He...he was...” Bruni looked as if he would start crying, and Osha stood. 

“Bruni. Come on.” 

“I want to see my-“

“Bruni!” Osha was pulling at him now.

“What about Ghost?” He asked Daenerys.

“Ghost?”

“Jon’s wolf.”

“Oh. I don’t know, sweetling. I’ll ask him.”

“It’s not the Boltons who have Winterfell?”

“No, not anymore.”

Osha managed to get the boy out of the room, and Daenerys frowned. 

Tyrion entered with guards and the chained Lannister prisoners. Cersei glared at her, and Jaime seemed amused. 

“I need to speak with you both about an urgent matter. If you assist in this, it will go a long way in helping you during your trial.”

“I would sooner die than help a usurping foreign whore,” Cersei spat.

“And that can be arranged,” Daenerys said. “But I thought it would be best to present the situation to you and see what you have to say.”

“What’s the situation?” Jaime asked.

Daenerys took a deep breath. “There’s an army of the dead. A Night King who can raise corpses into mindless warriors, and their sole objective is to destroy humanity. They are North of the Wall now, but if they make it past the Wall, they will be very difficult to stop. The North has declared independence and named Jon Snow their King. They wish to fight at Winterfell. But I’m not sure if that’s best.”

Cersei stared at her, then started laughing. She looked at Tyrion. “Wow. You really had to travel a long way to find a ruler madder than Aerys, but you succeeded, didn’t you?”

“This is no joke,” Daenerys said.

“Oh, I can see you don’t think so.”

“If we don’t defeat them, we will all die.”

“What is it you want of us?” Jaime asked. 

“You both know Westeros, far better than I do. I need to know where the caches of wildfire were hidden. I need to know which castles are most defensible.”

“Why?”

“So we can lure the dead there and fight them.”

Jaime was staring at her and Cersei seemed almost offended. 

Daenerys was looking at Jaime’s gold hand.

“That was your sword hand. Before.”

Jaime winced. “It was.”

Daenerys wished she could trust him. He had a reputation as an unsurpassed swordsman before his injury. 

She had sent for Jon Snow as well, and he entered the council chambers with Ser Davos, interrupting her thoughts. 

“You wanted to see me, Your Grace?”

“I did. We are discussing the plans to fight the dead.”

“I’ve sent a raven to Winterfell. I’m hoping the Northern commanders will come south as you asked to discuss the matter.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“We would prefer to fight at Winterfell.”

Daenerys sighed. “All right, let me ask you a question. Why? Why Winterfell? And don’t tell me it’s because it’s your home. Sentiment will not win this war. And don’t tell me your people have suffered. We’ve all suffered. And lastly, don’t tell me it’s because of independence, when we both know that victory in this war requires interdependence.” 

Jon took a deep breath. “That’s fair,” he said. “I’ll start by saying Winterfell has crypts. Most Northern Keeps do.”

“So every Keep the Night King passes, will add to his army,” Daenerys noted. 

Jon looked relieved that she understood this, and she was annoyed by that, but maybe he wasn’t trying to be patronizing. He must have met resistance to his tale of dead armies.

“Yes,” he said. “Then, across all Westeros, there are people you will not be able to evacuate. They can’t read, they don’t have Keeps. Too many had their farms burned. We’ve been at war for years. There are people hiding all over Westeros. The Vale has their hill tribes and mountain clans. The Night King will add them all to his army. The further south he goes, the larger his forces will be. Add to that, moving everyone along with supplies across the Neck would be no easy feat.”

Daenerys nodded thoughtfully. He had some valid points there. “Have you been building obstacles and digging trenches around Winterfell?”

Jon’s shoulders drooped a little. “We were digging a trench.”

“A trench? One trench?” She tried to keep the angry disbelief from her voice and failed. “Why?”

“We...” he broke off, and sighed. “You’re right. We’ll dig more trenches.”

“Good. I’m concerned about moving large quantities of wildfire to Winterfell, but - “

“Why would you do that?” He demanded.

“Because if the army of the dead is as large as you say, raining down fire on my dragons will only do so much. If we put wildfire into some of the trenches, build chevrons that have jars set inside them, we can take out much of the dead army before they even approach your walls. Since you mentioned it, I’m concerned now about the crypts. This would mean the Night King has essentially infiltrated and will have his own soldiers on the inside, that he can call into action at any time.”

Jon was nodding, looking at her thoughtfully. “You’re right,” he finally said again, with grudging respect. 

“Once your men arrive, and the other commanders I’ve asked to join us, we’ll revisit this. One last concern. You said moving supplies and people South over the Neck would be no easy feat. The same applies coming North, and I can’t imagine the stores of the North would be greater than what we would have to bring. Whether we fight North or South of the Neck, we should sail the people and supplies instead.”

“Agreed,” he said appreciatively. 

“Good.” She turned back to Jaime and Cersei, who had watched the exchange in fascination. “If either of you has anything to contribute, it would help in your trial, as I mentioned.”

“I’d be willing to help fight,” Jaime said. “I’d advise the battle taking place just south of the Neck. You could line the Neck with wildfire, then flank what’s left of the army as it comes past. But I could look at the maps. I can’t fight as I once did, but I’ve been learning to use my other hand.”

Daenerys’ eyes were fixed again on his golden hand.

“You can’t use that arm at all?”

“I can’t hold a sword with it.”

Daenerys nodded. “Still...practice with it.”

“With what? My hand?”

She nodded. “We need everyone, don’t we?”

“And what am I to do?” Cersei demanded angrily. 

“You will both be under guard. I can’t risk either of you murdering me or my men. That said, if you wish to learn how to wield a sword, that could help.”

They were brought back to their cells. Qyburn started to leave as well, but Daenerys stopped him. 

“You made Jaime’s gold hand.”

“I did, Your Grace.”

“I’d like you to work on another. A hand made out of dragonglass. With pointed tips. He may be able to deliver killing blows to the wights.”


End file.
